


it's too much

by o0JayWolf0o



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Child Abuse, Earth-C, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), Loneliness, M/M, Starvation, Suicide, some other shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12010920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0JayWolf0o/pseuds/o0JayWolf0o
Summary: Your name was Dave Strider, and you regret not having a childhood. You grew up too fast, and it really fucking left you scarred in the end.





	it's too much

**Author's Note:**

> pstdhc really fucking sad i guess?? theres no dialogue sorr y  
> this was more of a vent than anything

You grew up too fast.

At age five, you first held a sword and engaged in real fights for hours at a time. You’d spend days starving, asking people for food at school so maybe over the weekend you wouldn’t pass out due to nutrition loss. You never had a real childhood - the house was always quiet or tense and the feeling of wind meant _he_ was here and _he_ was going to hurt you if you didn’t go back into your room right away. You developed extreme haphephobia, catching your breath in the hallways at school when someone brushed your shoulder or bumped into you in lines.

At 7, you learned to patch up your own wounds. At school, you hid your limp and focused in class because anything was better than someone asking if you were okay. It was fine, though, because you learned to lie straight to their faces as to suppress your emotions. At your age, you thought it was normal, but as you aged you knew that was not true. You didn’t mention your issue at home because you thought Bro was doing the best for you, was treating you how you needed to be treated. You were taught that getting help was bad and following directions from Bro and only Bro awarded you with food or money.

At 13, you started to play a game with your friends. You thought it would be fun: a change of scenery from the dark, swirling abyss of abuse that you lived in. Oh, but how wrong you were. At the age of 13, your abuser died, and as you watched his blood run in rivets over your hands, you...

You were lost. Who was going to strife you on the roofs and tell you how badly you messed up? Who was going to tell you what to do when you got home too late or didn’t repair your wounds fast enough? Who was going to taunt you with puppets and creepy drawings around the house? Who was going to tell you when and how much you should eat?

You’d thought he was invincible. You never won in a fight and never managed so so much as land a nick on him. Fighting imps was the only thing that kept you from thinking about him, and it still hurt when you stabbed one through the chest. You met dead versions of yourself and had to dispose of the bodies in a calm demeanor so you didn’t flip your shit. It hurt something deep inside you to see the lifeless eyes of yourself.

At 13, you met an alien race. You gained powers and had the ability to not only travel in time but also age items and weapons as you pleased. You would have dialed back the time on Bro if it meant he was alive again, but you could not find his body any longer. You found yourself on a meteor with your weird ecto-sister, someone who psychoanalyzed people and refused to stop bugging you about your past life. _Why did you flinch at touch? Why, Dave? Why?_

You met one of the aliens there, too. Karkat. He was a pain in the ass, but he was the only one you really could talk to. After months of talking to him, he started to open up. He told you his secrets - his blood run a bright, candy red, and while that was normal for you, if any of his friends had known before the game, he’d have been killed by the Empress herself. Most importantly, though, he helped you. You talked about your time with Bro and, though he told you that would have been an easy life for a troll, he showed sympathy and guided you to realize that Bro was an abuser. You had denied it at first, but the signs came clearer and clearer as the days passed. You grieved him, at last, despite his bad influences, and thanked Karkat for his help.

At age 13 you became good friends with the troll and developed feelings for the guy. You struggled with internalized homophobia for 2 years, alone, before you said ‘fuck it’ and kissed the unexpectant troll. He’d reciprocated, much to your little heart’s relief, and you’d been happy for a while.

Your overzealous attitude had crusted up and shattered at 18 when the meteor arrived and you met someone who looked exactly like Bro but younger. He sounded and talked like him too, and you consulted Karkat for help. He’d comforted you and told you that though the genetic identity of this stranger (who had the _same fucking name as Bro - Dirk)_ was identical to Bro, he was not the same in personality. You’d trusted him, and had a vent session with Dirk before you risked your life against a fight that would change the fate of the universe under your hands.

And you’d won.

You created a universe with the help of your friends and set up town and life there. You lived a life in paradise, where your friends lived where they pleased and you were the gods of your own planet. Of course, this came with consequences and stress - you had to set up a planet, for fuck’s sake, at 18! - but after all was said and done, you got time to relax.

You married Karkat at 23 and invited all of his and your friends to the party. Some were unable to make it due to being in outer space and shit, but you felt happy. For the first time in your life, you’d been truly happy and felt alive. Your past was behind you, no matter how fast you’d grown up, and you pushed your worries aside and lived with your husband. The relationship was hard, but over time you overcame your haphephobia with the help of your friends.

Jane soon died heroically. How funny was it - the Maid of Life was the first to die. Any chance of reviving your friends went down the drain and you hosted her funeral, clinging to Karkat the whole way.

At age 45, everything you’d ever known had shattered. Karkat was not as lucky as you when it came to being immortal; his blood was off spectrum and as warm as you could get it, and at 21 sweeps old he’d finally died. You’d become distant with reality, coming home from a walk in the park to announce your presence before realizing there was no longer someone waiting for you. Nights were cold without a body nestled up against yours and attempts to relieve your pain were seemingly mocked by the gods. You couldn’t even kill yourself, so you sat up various ways that your death would be heroic.

None of them worked. But hey, at least you had the Mayor, right?

You lived thousands of years, watching slowly as your friends died. First, it was Kanaya. Rose was heartbroken but learned to distract herself and buried herself in work that she never needed to get done in the first place. Then it was Terezi. She was buried on the highest, most colorful mountain everyone could find, and wishes of luck were sent her way.

You were still numb.

Calliope died next. Jade and Jane cried and even a little sliver of your soul had broken off and shattered. The two girls got over her soon enough and took after her love of drawing in memory of her.

Then it was the Mayor. You’d buried him next to Karkat and hoped he met the troll and they rested in the afterlife peacefully. Maybe they didn’t need you.

Nothing helped.

You lived on as your friends, one by one, died. You never got over Karkat, and still cried when you saw one of the pictures on your wall. You wished you had spent more time with everyone while they were still alive.

Soon it was just you. You were surrounded by carapacians you could care less about. You were hundreds of thousands of years old and you still walked through the cities with a mournful dread in your eyes. You watched the rise and fall of your own universe and finally, finally...

At age 612,413,811, you died. You had seen a fight going on in the street and one of them pulled a gun. You knew this was a chance to die.

So you took it.

You flew in front of the poor man this woman wanted to murder, and she shot. She shot and her expression morphed into terror- how would she explain that she had killed the last god left on Earth-C?

But you smiled, even as pain that felt unfamiliar and yet reminded you of your childhood coursed through your veins. You fell backward, your eyes crusting black around the edges. And you felt nothing.

 _Is this it?_ you thought, in your dying moments. _Was this what true death felt like?_ You didn’t feel the telltale sign of resurfacing from some random, secluded place on the planet like you often did when you died Just. No, you felt nothing akin to it, only the faint, garbled noises of shouting and panic.

And darkness fell upon you for one, last time, and you hoped you had done the right thing. You hoped Karkat would have wanted this- he would have been happy to see you relieve your pain, wouldn’t he? The thought hurt. Or, it would have, if you had not had the void staring into your very soul.

And then, nothing.

Your name was Dave Strider, and you grew up too fast.

**Author's Note:**

> comments = the appreciation  
> sorry i didnt fully proofread this bc my power might go out (im in a big ol stormy storms)


End file.
